


Glitter and Ghouls

by henriettahoney



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2021-01-16 12:29:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henriettahoney/pseuds/henriettahoney
Summary: Rather than turning around, the boy twists the top half of his body around the pole in a contorted, fluid movement, using the stability of his hands to flip himself upside down, holding steady to the slick metal by nothing more than his locked knees.Two things happen.First, there is an exclamation (“Raven boy!” to which Adam quickly explains that this is the name the club’s workers have taken to calling Ronan upon one long, drunken conversation about Chainsaw.) and second, Gansey’s heart stops.





	Glitter and Ghouls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [octoberfeeling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octoberfeeling/gifts).

“I didn’t agree to this,” Gansey attempts to interject for the umpteenth time, because  _ he hadn’t agreed to this. _ It doesn’t matter, though. Adam and Ronan are chattering away in the front seat, Blue and Henry leaning over Gansey in the middle to interject themselves into the conversation, and no one is listening to him anyway. 

He sighs, quietly, and leans back to offer the others more space to crowd around him, bringing up one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose.

He’s tired, because when isn’t he, but especially now, because he hasn’t slept in what’s verging on thirty hours, and he can’t stand the thought of the music in whatever club he’s being dragged to pulsating out of time with the pounding in his head, and he would really like to go home.

Alas.

They arrive at a large parking structure and Ronan whips the car inside, nosing into a space on the lowest level. It isn’t packed, to Gansey’s surprise and relief. A moderate sprinkling of vehicles lines the garage’s perimeter, but there are easily more vacancies than occupations.

As the others pile out of the car, Gansey follows suit, and, as he always does, Adam hangs back.

“Hey,” he says, tugging gently at Gansey’s sleeve. “You okay?”

“I didn’t agree to this,” Gansey repeats. But then Adam frowns, and he knows it still doesn’t matter. He’d do anything to keep that expression off Adam’s face. He hasn’t met many people who wouldn’t.

“Do you want to leave?” Adam asks, all sincerity and concern. “I can take you home. I’m sorry, Gans, I didn’t—”

“I don’t want to leave,” Gansey assures him quickly. “We came to have a good time, right? Let’s have a good time.”

Adam smiles, still clearly not fully buying it, and nudges Gansey’s shoulder with his own. “Maybe you’ll meet someone. Never know.”

Gansey smiles back. Says nothing.

They head inside.

Deju Vu is intrinsically similar to every other gay club Gansey has ever been to—not that the list is a particularly lengthy one. The overhead lighting is practically nonexistent, and there are neon purple LED strips encircling the ceilings and banisters and the edges of the black marble floors. The music is loud, as anticipated, but not unbearably so—just enough that Gansey makes a mental note not to try and speak to Adam while standing on his left. 

“I’m heading up to the bar,” Henry proclaims enthusiastically, rocking back and forth on his toes. “Anyone care to join? Blueberry?”

“In a minute,” Blue tells him, nodding toward the stage, which Gansey’s been trying to avoid. “There’s a new boy here. I want to go flirt him into at least coming down from there and talking to us.”

“Ooh, good thinking,” Henry tells her, squeezing her hand. “I’ll order for you. Bring him over when you can.”

Before Gansey can voice how uncomfortable he is with the objectification of the young, scantily clad men wrapped half around the poles lining the platform and half around each other, Ronan taps Adam’s shoulder and says, “Look who’s here.”

Adam follows his line of sight, and Gansey follows Adam’s.

“Oh, it’s Shade!” Adam says, delighted. “God, it’s been forever since we’ve seen him. Let’s go say hi.”

Gansey is shocked to find that Ronan complies rather amiably, twining his fingers through Adam’s and tossing a, “You coming, Gans?” over his shoulder.

Gansey really wants to go home.

He follows them.

He doesn’t know which of the boys they’d been referring to until they reach the stage. As it turns out, “Shade” is the only one with his back to them. All Gansey can see from behind is that the boy has short enough hair on the sides that his neck is shaved, but there’s an intentionally messy, white mop atop his head. He’s wearing shorts that Gansey doesn’t believe he’s ever owned underwear to rival the lack in length of, and he’s on the opposite side of the pole from them, both hands wrapped around it above his head. 

“Hey!” Ronan calls, wadding up a twenty dollar bill and lobbing it expertly at the boy’s left shoulder. “How much for a private room?”

Rather than turning around, the boy twists the top half of his body around the pole in a contorted, fluid movement, using the stability of his hands to flip himself upside down, holding steady to the slick metal by nothing more than his locked knees. 

Two things happen.

First, there is an exclamation (“Raven boy!” to which Adam quickly explains that this is the name the club’s workers have taken to calling Ronan upon one long, drunken conversation about Chainsaw.) and second, Gansey’s heart stops.

It starts again quickly enough, but that single misstep is enough to leave him breathless. Or maybe the total lack of lung control is thanks to the sight before him.

The boy hanging by his legs, addressing Ronan, is entirely devoid of pigment anywhere save for his eyes and lips. His skin is ghostly—easily paler than anyone Gansey’s ever been face to face with—and his hair could be spun from spider’s silk, brows and lashes and all. Gansey had assumed, looking at him from behind, that his hair had been dyed white, and without a clear view, the club’s lights had cast such fluorescent hues across his body that Gansey hadn’t paid any mind to his complexion. But now it’s glaringly obvious, and Gansey has been rendered silent (not just on the outside) by the sheer existence of such an ethereal being. 

“And you brought Harvard tonight!” Shade is observing now, in clear reference to Adam.

Gansey is still staring. 

“How about the pretty one? Is he with you?”

It takes Gansey up until the second Ronan confirms to realize that  _ the pretty one  _ is him.

“I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, finally averting his eyes and then realizing this isn’t the socially savvy move for when you’ve only just begun speaking to someone. “I didn’t mean—you’re just—you’re so—”

“White?” Shade laughs, finally righting himself with a theatrical flip and jogging to the edge of the stage. 

“No!” Gansey protests, and flushes, because what had he been planning to say? He isn’t sure, so he doesn’t correct himself—just leaves the opposition hanging in the air like the dreadful cover it is. 

“It’s okay,” Shade says, slinging himself down to sit face to face with their standing forms. “I am  _ very _ white. Do we have an official title for this one, gentlemen?”

“Nope,” Adam denies. Gansey is painfully lost. “Have at it.”

Shade tilts his head to the side, and this close, Gansey can see that he’s wearing a single diamond stud in his left ear, as well as a thin, silver hoop in his right nostril. He can also see quite a few other things that he  _ is not  _ pointedly avoiding, thanks  _ so _ much. “I’m getting  _ heavy _ Milo Thatch vibes. Like, from Atlantis?”

“Oh, yeah,” Adam chuckles, assessing Gansey now, too. “I totally get that. Okay, so Milo, then?”

Shade makes a face like he’s tasted something he isn’t quite sure about and shakes his head, still studying. “Thatch. Has a better feel to it. Hey, you know you guys are here on the wrong night, right?”

“What?” Ronan scoffs, cocking a brow and twining his fingers through Adam’s. “You tired of us?”

Shade rolls his icy eyes, and Gansey can’t help but notice the way his lashes flutter. “Absolutely. Immeasurably. No, you ass, you’re here on the wrong night because  _ tomorrow _ is our Halloween party. Such a shame I won’t get to see Thatch here dressed as his namesake.”

Shocking everyone in the general vicinity but himself most of all, Gansey’s mouth opens and the words, “We could always come back,” trickle out, smooth and steady.

It’s Adam’s turn to raise his brow. Both of them, actually. “You  _ want _ to do that?”

“Yes,” he finds himself answering. “I mean, if. Yeah. If you’d like to.”

A grin breaks over Shade’s face, teeth gleaming against his blush-pink lips. “Well, hell, boys. Sounds like I’ll see you tomorrow.”

* * *

It’s not difficult by any stretch of the imagination to talk Blue and Henry into returning to the club—especially when Henry receives a rather suggestive text from the bartender informing him that he’ll be working again if he and blue would like the three of them to get to know one another a little better. 

Because Adam is Adam, no detail missed, no implication ignored, he insists on dressing Gansey as Milo Thatch, which Gansey finds incredibly unfair considering that neither he nor Ronan is dressing up at all. 

Blue and Henry both do, of course—both in togas, to commemorate their first meeting. Gansey suspects it may also have something to do with how easy they are to remove. 

When they arrive at the club, Ronan wastes no time dragging Gansey and Adam toward the stage, where Gansey can already see Shade in a perfect split before the center pole, the back of his remarkably short shorts bearing a silver, glittery  _ Boo!  _ with eyes in place of the o’s. When he reaches high over his head and wraps his hands around the gleaming metal to pull himself up with no assistance from the muscles in his legs, Gansey  _ does not stare  _ at his biceps. He doesn’t. (They’re impressive, okay?)

“I can feel you watching me,” Shade says (or, shouts, over the music) which is a little unsettling considering that Gansey is, in fact, watching him. He turns around then, no production about it tonight, and locks eyes with Gansey, perfect teeth gleaming. “You’re really living up to your nickname. I’m not disappointed.”

“Thank you,” Gansey has the good grace to respond. “It was, um. They. It wasn’t my idea.”

“No,” Shade agrees, hopping down from the platform. He’s right in Gansey’s space now, and Gansey forces himself not to take a step back. “It was kind of my idea, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Gansey hears himself assent, adjusting his glasses. He allows his eyes to flit to the other side of the room in search of Henry and Blue in hopes that they’ll be headed over to rescue him anywhere within the realm of  _ soon _ , but he realizes quickly that he’s going to have no such luck. They’re both leaned halfway across the bar, Blue’s fingers around the bartender’s wrist, Henry’s lips against his ear. 

“Is he always like this?” Shade asks Ronan, who chuckles and nods his head, clapping Gansey on the shoulder.

“He was a sheltered child. Forgive him.”

“Forgiven and forgotten,” Shade says, turning toward Gansey again and prompting the diamond in his earlobe for glitter. “You guys wanna know a secret?”

“Always,” Adam replies, more mischievous than Gansey’s used to hearing him. Maybe it’s just the atmosphere. 

Shade gestures for them to step closer and they all do so mechanically, as if drawn by a magnetic pull. “I’m not actually on the clock tonight,” he tells them, voice low. “I was just fucking around on stage while I waited for you. Raven boy, you asked about the cost of a private room?”

Vaguely, Gansey recalls Ronan asking yesterday. It was an obvious joke then. Just banter. A quip to garner Shade’s attention. The idea of being in more private quarters than the already confined space of a building with a boy Gansey’s been begging himself to stop thinking about for the past twenty-four hours does something unreasonable to his pulse. 

“The answer when I’m the one booking,” Shade carries on, not allowing Gansey to spiral further down the labyrinth of his thoughts, “is free.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is ROUGH, y'all. It's barely edited and it was mostly written very late at night, but this is what we're working with. I know I shouldn't be starting another multichap right now (I'm also probably starting ANOTHER one in the next couple days, so yell at me all you want) but this one will only be another chapter or two.
> 
> Also, it's for EJ, who I'm sure everyone's aware by now is my soulmate. Happy birthday, babe! I love you sooo much. <3
> 
> (I hate myself for the title. We're not talking about it.)


End file.
